Page 25 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“Fine?” I nod, and she relaxes, as if she thinks I’m going to turn around and leave. Instead, I take a few steps toward her and bend down, putting a shoulder into her belly and hefting her up and over my shoulder.
“Adam! What the fuck!”
“Which bedroom is yours?” I ask, ignoring the way her hand slaps at my back. It’s barely a tap, and I can’t decide if it’s just incredibly half-hearted or if she is genuinely so tired she doesn’t have the energy.
I step into the hallway, hitting the light in her office on my way out.
“Why on earth would I tell you that?”
“Fine, I’ll figure it out myself,” I say with a sigh, heading toward where my room is in my home, my gut telling me the rest of the layout is the same as mine. Triumph fills me as I push the door open and see the girliest room known to man, but I pause when I realize it’s an exact replica of mine, with the furniture all in the same places. The bed is exactly where mine is, though it’s probably a queen rather than a king. Instead of basic gray bedding in a twisted mess, hers is perfectly made with a lacy white duvet and more toss pillows in various shades of pink, red, and green than any one person should have. There are photos along the walls, including some landscapes and some family photos, and a small bookshelf sits in one corner. There are also small knick-knacks scattered about, along with various Christmas decorations.
It screams home. It screams lived in. It screams comfortable and cozy and safe. It screamsWren.
I realize my own home looks and feels empty in contrast to hers.
I shove that thought down as Wren continues to argue with my back before I toss her onto her bed.
“I can’t believe you?—”
“Bed. Now,” I say, unable to get out complete sentences as I take her in, sprawled on her sweet-looking bed. She’s wearing a loose, oversized sweatshirt and shorts, and a pair of fuzzy, warm-looking pink and green Christmas socks. She looks fucking delectable, and for the tiniest, most insane moment of my life, I contemplate climbing in there with her and pulling her against my chest.
“You can’t tell me?—”
The words leave my lips before I can even think to stop them from spilling out, before I can run them through some kind of filter. “Go to bed, or I’m getting in there with you and making sure you don’t leave.”
That’s when I see it cross her face.
The barest hint of hesitation.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I would do almost anything to see that hesitation out, but I also know she needs to sleep. If I lay in that bed with her, I’m not sure I could convince myself to just go to sleep.
“Get out,” she says finally, making the choice easier.
“You’ll go to sleep?”
She gives me an exaggerated eye roll.
“Will you storm the castle again if I don’t?”
“Over and over, sweetness.” I don’t miss the light blush that comes over her cheeks before she sighs once more.
“Then yes. I’ll go to bed.”
I nod, then turn around, making my way back through the house, successfully resisting the utterly wack urge to tuck her in.
I leave through the back door, lift an empty flowerpot onto the porch railing, and find the key instantly. I shake my head with irritation that the woman cares about everyone else—but clearly not her own safety—before using it to lock the back door. Before I can stop myself, I slide the golden key into my pocket.
If she doesn't go to bed at a reasonable hour tomorrow, maybe I’ll have to do this again.
I’m smiling to myself as I enter my house, lock up, and turn all the lights off. I get ready for bed, then check to make sure the light in her office is still off.
It is, along with all the lights in her home.
And even though she seemed pissed, she must have actually listened to me, because despite her bedroom light turning backon for a minute or two, it went off not long after, telling me she heeded my warning and went to bed.
